


The Devil Inside

by sentinel28II



Series: One Night in Atlas [7]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cinder's background, Dark, F/M, Fear, Gen, It's just a dream Cinder, Loss, OR IS IT, References to Depression, Sometimes love isn't pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentinel28II/pseuds/sentinel28II
Summary: During this one night in Atlas, Cinder Fall dreams--of her past, of her Prince, of love and death.  Who was Cinder before the Fall?And just in case she doesn't have regrets, Amber and Pyrrha are there to remind her that she should.
Series: One Night in Atlas [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575496
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	The Devil Inside

**Author's Note:**

> This one was tough to write, and to be honest, I’m not still not sure if it even fits. But maybe it does. Once I decided to make “One Night in Atlas” an ongoing series, I wanted it to explore some themes: love, loss, lust, fear, courage, and friendship, among others. Some of it would be funny, some of it would be sad, and some of it would be just awkward. Could Blake and Yang really be lovers, or were they always destined to be just very close friends? Had Jaune and Pyrrha found some time after all to express their love physically before the fall of Beacon? Was Weiss lonely? Was Ruby? How would Penny react to her newly-returned friends enjoying physical pleasure—pleasure she could never have? And how much fun would it be to write Qrow and Winter engaging in slap, slap, kiss, kiss?   
>  And then I thought “What about Cinder and Neo? Did Cinder ever love someone?" We know Neo did.  
>  What indeed?  
>  Warning: this one gets very, very dark.

_City of Mantle_

_Kingdom of Atlas, World of Remnant_

_An Hour After Blake Went to Yang_

Cinder Fall was dreaming. 

She knew she was dreaming, and she thrashed in her sleep. _I have to wake up,_ she shouted in her own head, _I have to wake up!_ But she couldn’t. In the world of dreams, the Fall Maiden’s powers were nothing.

Worst of all, although she knew how the dream would end, she found herself enjoying its beginning.

In her dream, Cinder was laid down gently, lovingly on a canopied bed, covered in the richest of sheets. The dress she wore was decorated with silk flowers, white as untouched Atlas snow, pure and virginal. She propped herself up on her elbows and saw herself in the mirrors that took up the entire wall. It was a younger Cinder, wide-eyed, innocent, her eyes a soft brown rather than a blazing amber, a beatific smile on her face as she prepared for the happiest night of her life.

And then he stepped into view. Her Prince. She heard herself speak his name. He returned her smile, and dropped his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt. He was beautiful, her Prince. Tall, blond, unbelievably handsome. He had looked so hard for her, and at last she was his. And he was hers. 

The Prince drew Cinder to her feet—her bare feet now, no longer in the glass slippers that had led to this moment. He kissed her with passion, and Cinder melted in his arms, having wanted for so long to feel those lips on hers—she had at the wedding, of course, but now she knew she would be kissing those lips for the rest of her life. She felt his hands at her back, unzipping the dress to the dimples above her rear. She let him pull it off of her, helped him do so, exposing the white garter belt, stockings and matching bra. Then she reached up and undid her thick, raven hair from its bun, letting it fall forward over the left side of her face. It made her alluring, and Cinder loved being alluring. The Prince had called her that, much to the disgust of her stepsisters, but that only made it sweeter. 

They kissed again. And again. They could not get enough of each other. Each kiss was sweeter than the last. Soon the Prince was naked before her, but he turned away, shy and embarrassed, covering himself. Cinder gently took his hands away. He was already hard and throbbing. He wanted her! Young Cinder laughed in pure joy, and assured her Prince that she was flattered. Then, surprising herself, she took control of the situation, pushed him onto the bed, and stood before him, hands on her hips. Then, a playful grin on her lips, she unsnapped the stockings from the belt, and pulled the belt and the attached panties off. He looked wide-eyed at her, and she smiled. Yes, she’d shaved off her black fan of pubic hair. It seemed so common, and she wanted to be anything but common for her Prince. Cinder was already wet. She’d wanted this man from the moment she saw him. 

She climbed onto the bed and straddled him. He made whimpering noises of desire. Hands shaking with anticipation, Cinder reached up and untied the bow that held the bra together, and let it fall open. Her breasts were magnificent, perfect, the nipples just the right shade of salmon pink, and the Prince reached his hands up. He paused, asked if it was all right. Cinder giggled. Of course it was all right! They were married now. Everything was all right. An electric thrill shot through her as he touched the nipples, ran his hands over her breasts; her toes curled and she shuddered with delight. Cinder bent over, took hold of his erection, and guided it into her.

It hurt…a little. Not as much as she had worried, and nowhere near the blinding pain her fool of a stepmother had told her would happen. Cinder relaxed, or tried to, getting used to the feeling of having him inside her. The Prince groaned, as he sank to his base, his peach-colored pubic hair tickling her shaved mound. Cinder looked down, saw the blood on his leg. She was no longer a virgin. Cinder threw back her head and laughed in triumph. Her stepmother had laughed once, too. Had told her she would never have a man. And if she ever did spread her legs and lose her virginity like the whore she was, it would hurt, as she deserved, and she would never know real passion, only being taken in the gutter for money by men twice her age.

Well, her stepmother was wrong about that, too. Cinder had taken control of her life, and she controlled this bed. She rode the Prince, rocking back and forth, her breathing quickening, gasping as he took a nipple in his mouth. He was a virgin as well, and didn’t last long, shouting her name as he came deep within her. She was a little disappointed—she wasn’t quite there yet—but with his fingers, he finished her off, rubbing at her already sensitive clitoris until she was screaming in euphoria. She’d never experienced pleasure like that, not with her own fingers, not with anything, but she knew it was because she loved her Prince, and he loved her. Afterwards, when Cinder lay in his arms, she began to cry. Why are you crying? her Prince asked. Because I’m happy, Cinder had replied. And later, when he had recovered enough, they made love again. And again that morning. Cinder ached by that time, but didn’t care. He loved having her on top, and she loved to stare down at him, at her Prince’s face, as his eyes became half-lidded and she knew he was about to fill her again.

“Stop this,” Cinder said to her dream. “Stop this. Don’t make me see this.”

The dream did not stop. It never did. 

Without warning, Cinder was staring down at her Prince again. She was fully dressed, in black. He lay upon another bed, but this time, his eyes were closed, because he was dead. She watched, weeping, as they closed the lid on his coffin, and lowered it into the ground. She was led away, reassured by her Prince’s mother that Cinder was still Princess, still was welcome in her house and always would be.

But that was a lie.

Cinder found herself a prisoner, another Lady in the Tower, only trotted out when the kingdom needed her to be. She was not allowed to leave. She was not allowed to do anything that her station did not require. There were whispers in the dark that her Prince was actually unfaithful, that he had been making love—no, Cinder had heard, _fucking—_ the household staff when she was out. There were other whispers that he had been murdered, poisoned, as he stood in the way of far lesser men. The first whisper Cinder did not believe. The second one she did. 

Months passed, then years. Once, out of sheer desperation, Cinder had seduced a stable boy that reminded her of her Prince. She was made to watch as the stable boy was flogged to death, because no one believed her when she said that he was innocent of rape. Everyone knew the teenager was innocent; killing him was a lesson for her to do as she was told. Then came the news that she would be married again, to a man twice her age, that looked at her hungrily and told her at a party exactly what he would do to her on their wedding night, his fat fingers roughly pawing at her breasts. It was disgusting, and even in the dream, Cinder felt nauseated.

And that night, as Cinder held the knife to her throat, dressed in her wedding dress for the last time and kneeling on her matrimonial bed, preparing to take her own life to see her Prince once again, _she_ had appeared in her bedroom. Tall, skin alabaster white, hair silver, eyes the color of blood, dressed in the black of night. 

“Your Prince was murdered,” Salem had confirmed. “Do you want the power to avenge him?”

And Cinder did.

Her wedding dress turned red that night, but not with her blood. The blood of everyone who had laughed at her, everyone who tried to control her, those who had murdered her Prince. That night, like Cinder’s wedding night, was filled with blood and screams. Once she was done there, she had gone to her stepmother’s house in the slums. Her stepsisters were long gone: one had drank herself to death, the other had been killed in a botched mugging, but the old bitch was still there. 

Cinder took her time. And as she watched her old home burn, Cinder burned her true last name with it. From now on, she was Cinder Fall, because that was what her enemies would do before her. She knelt to Salem, throwing herself before the Grimm queen’s feet, accepting fealty to the undead woman in return for more power. Because Cinder would never be without power again. 

“How sad.”

Salem suddenly faded, replaced by a young woman with short brown hair, dressed in ragged underwear. This had not happened before. The dream always ended—either with her Prince’s funeral, or the night she took revenge—but this was a new turn. “Who are you?” Cinder demanded.

“We never were properly introduced,” the young woman said, “but I’m surprised you don’t recognize me. My name is Amber. I was the Fall Maiden before you killed me.”

It began to rain. Cinder got to her feet, still dressed in her blood-soaked wedding dress; the ground beneath her bare feet turned russet. “What are you doing here?”

Amber shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s your dream.” She turned to look at the burning home, as it fell to pieces. “You got a bad hand, Cinder. No question. I don’t blame you for wanting revenge. Heck, I might’ve done the same thing, if Salem had come to me instead of the power of the Maiden.”

Cinder was confused. Amber approved of her vengeance? The girl turned and smiled. “Oh, not quite, Cinder. I said I understood. I didn’t say what you did was right. You didn’t just kill those who wronged you. You killed _everyone._ And then you kept on killing. Not because you needed to, but because you loved to.” Amber turned and walked to her. Cinder raised her hands, her eyes burning with the power of the Maiden, obsidian blades appearing in her hands. Amber seemed unafraid. “Tell me, Cinder. When you killed me, was it because your Prince left you, alone with no one to love? Or was it because you decided you wanted power for power’s sake, and he was just the excuse?”

“Shut up,” Cinder snarled. 

Amber raised her arms. It began to rain harder, and thunder rolled louder than the popping and roar of the flames. “What would he say if he saw what Cinder Fall has become? How she had burned out the gentle girl who only wanted love and was left with only the burned shadow of who she once was? How she become the pawn of an undead queen who herself wants nothing more than oblivion? How she had taken the lives of so many to fill the hole in her soul? How you killed—“

Cinder screamed in pure rage and buried both blades between Amber’s small breasts. Amber’s head fell back in wide-eyed surprise, the same expression she had worn beneath Beacon when Cinder had killed her. A peal of thunder exploded around her and Cinder fell back, blinded by a sudden lightning strike. Amber’s shadowed figure fell to her knees in the darkness, the blades still impaled through her. Cinder raised her hands, and new blades coalesced into being. “How I killed you?” Cinder shouted over the rain and thunder.

“No,” said a new voice. “How you killed _me.”_

The clouds that had appeared with Amber suddenly scudded away as if blown away by a hurricane. The rain stopped instantly, and the shattered moon illuminated what had been Ozpin’s office atop Beacon Tower. The figure who knelt now wore armor, but they were not beige and bronze, but black and red. She slowly got to her feet, and pulled the blades from her chest. Moonlight fell over the figure of Pyrrha Nikos. 

Cinder laughed derisively. “I see what this is. Too much cheap Atlesian fast food combined with a stupid dream.” She connected her two obsidian blades, forming a bow, and drew it back with three arrows nocked. “I killed you before, Nikos. I can quite easily kill you again.” She aimed down the center arrow. “After all, it’s my dream.” She fired.

All three arrows hit perfectly, marching arrows across the upper chest of Pyrrha. She looked down at them without concern, raised a shield that had suddenly appeared on her left hand, and slammed it downwards. The arrows shattered. “Are you _sure_ about that, Fall Maiden?” Pyrrha walked forward. Cinder growled like a Grimm and fired again. The arrow embedded itself in Pyrrha’s leg, but she just shattered it with her shield again. Another arrow embedded itself in the shield. Another in her abdomen. Another in her heel, straight through the foot. Pyrrha merely pulled her foot free and kept walking inexorably forward. “Maybe it’s not your dream. Maybe it’s mine.”

Cinder broke her bow, returning to the blades. She slashed at Pyrrha, who effortlessly blocked both strikes with her shield. “Why do you keep trying?” Pyrrha said with contempt. “You can’t kill what’s already dead, Cinder.”

“Get away from me.” Cinder took two steps back. “This is _my_ dream, you Mistrali corpse!”

Pyrrha threw back her head and laughed, and Cinder’s eyes widened at the sharpened fangs inside the mouth. When she looked at the Fall Maiden again, Pyrrha’s eyes were no longer green. 

They were silver fire, burning like a Grimm’s. 

Cinder raised her blades, but only one came up, because her left arm was no longer there. “I had a dream too, Cinder,” Pyrrha said, taking a step forward. “Very similar to yours. It involves the love of a boy. Someone who looked beyond who I was. Your Prince saw beyond your humble origins. Mine saw beyond my lofty ones. I fell for him as you did, and he for me, as your Prince did to you. But whereas you got to consummate your love for your Prince, and loved him for a year, I had one night of teenaged fumbling, and a stolen kiss on my last night of life. My Prince has found love in the arms of another, and for that I am very pleased, but he will never hold me again, thanks to you.” Pyrrha raised her right hand. In it was a spear of fire, the flames licking at the blade. “Your Prince was taken from you, Cinder. You took me away from my Prince.”

Cinder fell to her knees. She did not want to; she tried not to, but she was there, kneeling before Pyrrha Nikos. The wedding dress was no longer soaked with rain, nor blood, but was one more pristine and virginal. Her hair no longer fell alluringly over her eye, but was tied up in its bun—though Cinder only knew that from the feeling itself, since her left eye was gone as well. She raised her hand: the blade was gone, replaced by silken gloves and gossamer lace. Pyrrha poised the spear. “No,” Cinder begged, and hated herself for begging. But she was no longer in control. “Go away!”

Pyrrha grinned, in a mouth that was no longer human. Her red hair, no longer tied in its ponytail, billowed around her like a fiery halo. “I will _never_ go away, Cinder Fall. I will always be a part of you. I will always haunt you. And just as the last thing your Prince ever saw was your face as he died in your arms, the last thing you will ever see is _my_ Prince as he kills you with his!” Pyrrha’s face became twisted in hate. She raised the spear above her head with both hands, and the last thing Cinder saw was the fire on the blade shifting colors from red to white to black to yellow before it was plunged into her heart.

Cinder awoke naked in a bed of cinders. The bed had burned to nothingness—sheets had disappeared, wooden frames were glowing embers, the metal bedstead had melted. The cheap pajamas she had bought were gone, and around her was a circle of burned carpet and wood. The hotel she and Neo had holed up in, little more than a flophouse, was too cheap to have fire alarms or sprinklers that worked, so she was spared that. 

Cinder’s hand went to her left breast. Her heart was still there, still beating. Her fingers went over the puckered burn scars that still discolored most of her left side. 

Her Prince would not like her much now, she thought. 

Slowly, shakily, she got to her feet and threw on her cloak; luckily, she had only burned the bed. She left the room and went towards Neo’s down the hall. With the Atlas embargo, the hotel was deserted, and the proprietor, who was drunk most of the time, did not ask questions. She paused at the door, not sure what, exactly, she was doing there. It was not like Neo and she could talk about much of anything, let alone a dream, but Cinder pushed open the door nonetheless, surprised to find it ajar.

Neo Politan was on the bed, naked, covered in a sheen of perspiration, her pink, brown and white hair spread out under her. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open in a soundless scream. Cinder heard a soft buzzing and saw a pink vibrator buried in Neo’s vagina, the pale knees in the air as Neo thrashed and thrusted at the air in orgasm. One hand was curled around a small breast; the other held a black hat with a red headband and a feather to her other breast. 

Cinder stepped back and closed the door. Clearly, Neo was thinking of her Prince as well.

The Fall Maiden went further down the hall and opened the fire exit door. This one was alarmed and the alarm actually worked—or it would have, had Cinder not melted it to slag with a press of her hand. It opened onto a balcony. Above her, the moon was almost entirely blocked by Atlas, leaving Mantle in semi-darkness, lit only by the city lights reflecting off the rain that fell. Against the sliver of the moon that still shone, Cinder could see the spire of Atlas Academy. 

Cinder stood in the rain for a long time, ignoring it as it soaked her face. It hid her tears quite well.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa. Could Cinder still have some humanity left? Could she be regretting? Can she be redeemed? Well, that's up to RT to decide. One thing's for sure: she knows what she took from Pyrrha, and who's coming to kill her.
> 
> I originally considered having Neo coming into Cinder's room and comforting her, then one thing leading to another. It didn't feel right, though. Cinder and Neo don't like each other, and their alliance is one of convienence. Neither would be particularly willing to show affection to the other. I still included the brief scene with Neo, because she's lost her dum-dum too. 
> 
> I was going to wait until later to post this, but this was another result of a long and productive late night, so I'm going ahead with posting it--because despite its dark overtones, I like how it turned out. The next few chapters, as the One Night in Atlas ends, will be a lot more happy and fun. After all, Weiss and Jaune have some talking to do, Blake's going to have to wake up Yang, and maybe Ruby did visit Oscar after all. And then there's Salem...


End file.
